Thumbs down for Tesco and the NHS

My father is recuperating in Holsworthy Hospital in Devon following a fractured hip. He is actually not doing too badly, although he does sound down in the dumps.

To my horror I discovered yesterday that the hospital is not responsible for providing such essentials as soap and has no facilities for people like Dad for providing a laundry service or shopping service. Not even a service I can organise and pay for. So the old man is stuck in a hospital and the only way I can get some niceties such as orange squash, magazines, tissues, etc is to buy this end and post on to him from my base in Milton Keynes.

I did attempt to organise a delivery from Tesco but they won't deliver to the hospital because it is classed as a business and Tesco does not deliver to businesses. I have no idea what logic lies behind that reasoning.

What a sad state of affairs that an old man has to suffer, neglected by a system which he has supported all his working life by contributing via the tax system.

Has the whole world gone stark raving mad?

Dogs and Dads

What a week it's been! My poor Dad had yet another fall on Sunday and ended up with a broken hip and some more metal inside his amazingly resilient system, this time a bolt to hold his upper femur in place. He had the surgery on Tuesday, is making a good recovery and his spirits are high. You go Dad, your emotional and physical strength and willpower are an inspiration.

This photo was taken back in 2006 and I'm sorry to say is the most recent one I have of my Dad. Beside him is a very young Megan Berrybone, she was just 1 year old at the time.

As if one surgery in the family wasn't enough for this week, today my beautiful Megan had anterior cruciate ligament surgery on her left rear leg.

Funny how animals sense stuff. When I dropped her off at the vet and just before her newest best friend Kelly, a lovely veterinary nurse, took her away, we enjoyed a parting cuddle.  Normally nonchalant and undemonstrative, Megan just couldn't seem to stop kissing me and I had a strong sense that she needed a bit of reassurance.

Funny also how your mind is very selective of what it chooses to remember at any given time. As Megan was showering me with affection my heart just melted and the frustrating memories of all her disobedient and defiant terrier ways just seemed to fade away.

Several hours later I picked Megan up.  The op was a success and she is now snoozing peacefully on her fluffy thing in a nice warm living room.  Hopefully with time and care she will make a full recovery.  I have a sneaky suspicion this little Cairn Terrier will soon be living up to her name and checking out those rocky cairns on Lakeland fells once more.

Love you Meggie.

Soapbox Moment - AOL is a Thug!

Yesterday evening I received a telephone call from an AOL representative who immediately wound me up by asking if I was Mr Lesley Kemp.  Having satisfied herself that she was speaking to the right ‘victim’ she continued to attempt to persuade me to sign up for an 18 month contract, leaving me in no doubt that should I not do so, my contract with AOL would be terminated.

Fortunately I managed to get the occasional word in edgewise and expose her aggressive sales technique for what it was and I happily remain on my ‘rolling monthly contract’.

Tut, tut, tut AOL!  I know times are hard but really, resorting to victimisation and bullying tactics to grow and sustain your business is hardly ethical.  Consider your knuckles metaphorically rapped by this customer.

Legal Transcription

Today finds me working on legal transcription.

I have been transcribing immigration determinations for an Immigration Judge since 2001.  As it turned out, this line of work was a very lucky break for me; for once I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, knew the right person and had the skills which they were looking for.

For the most part, typing assignments and transcription projects arrive via word of mouth and repeat business, although I do continue to work hard canvassing, networking and advertising.  As a self-employed transcriptionist I can never rely on work simply materialising out of the blue - even though sometimes it does!  But despite the occasional period of uncertainty, as far as I'm concerned the advantages of autonomy and independence far outweigh any disadvantages.

As well as legal immigration work, transcription of legal documents for solicitors and barristers is now an important part of my portfolio and over the years I have carefully built a valuable list of referees along with the reputation for being trustworthy, reliable, completely confidential and of course efficient.

Life is so much easier now that most of my clients dictate and record on to digital media.  Gone are the times when bundles of tapes arrived at my door in all sorts of shapes and sizes.  These days virtually all my work arrives electronically, either as an email attachment or a digital file, securely uploaded via the internet.

Once I've finished my current legal obligations I shall be typing out research material for a UK academic.  Well, as the old saying goes - variety is the spice of life and I can't argue with that!

It's a dog's life.

My beautiful little Cairn Terrier, Megan Berrybone, is going to the vet on Monday.  She is limping badly on her rear nearside leg and I expect that she will have to undergo an operation to sort it out.  In August of 2008 her rear offside leg was diagnosed with an anterior cruciate ligament rupture and was operated on two months later.  The op was a complete success and it wasn't long before the fellwalking doggie was back in action again but I suppose it was just a matter of time before the other one went.

Megan is a hunter and cannot resist chasing after the multitude of rabbits found in our local fields.  As a result of charging about left, right and centre, constantly changing speed and direction, her little ligament protested wildly and eventually gave up the ghost.  The vet said this was a common complaint with hunting dogs, and in fact basketball players and footballers were also prone to this type of injury.

When she was first diagnosed, the vet suggested hydrotherapy in an attempt to avoid surgery and soon an oversized paddling pool found its way into the Kemp outhouse, a doggie life jacket was purchased and an exercise regime for Megan Berrybone instigated.

Megan soon became a proficient swimmer and was doggie paddling for two 15 minute stints each day, eventually even without even the aid of her lifejacket, but sadly the hydrotherapy did not save the day and she ended up having surgery.

My heart aches madly for my special, often smelly and for the most part defiant and disobedient mutt.  She is such a beautiful creature and really doesn't deserve this in her life.  Hopefully though it won't be long before all her little leggies are back in working order and she can enjoy the delights of walking, swimming, sniffing and rolling in 'stuff' to her heart's content.

Here she is doing the 'I'm sooo beautiful' pose!

Bless her.

Stevyn's Story - Those Dancing Days

It seems like a million years since I wrote an account of my son's antics in the dance world but the reality is that it was only eleven or so years ago.  Stevyn has long since hung up his dancing shoes and is now a grown man and one of life's beautiful human beings, but in my motherly eyes he will always be 'my little boy'.

Here is a portrait of Stevyn created by one of his artistic friends in 2007 when he was 18 years old.

Time to reminisce a little then ...

The Music and the Mirror and the Chance to Dance

It is four thirty in the morning on a grizzly Tuesday in May 1998. The Kemp family sleeps peacefully when suddenly the silence is shattered by the wailing alarm. As I heave myself out of bed reluctantly and life gradually comes into focus, gentle butterflies begin to flutter in my chest anticipating the excitement of the day ahead.

It all started around five years before when the children began after school activities; Stevy decided on swimming, Chloë ballet and they each watched the other in action. My first born, who suffers with permanent ants in pants syndrome, was uncharacteristically rapt as he absorbed the ballet class. Predictably by the next term he was enrolled and practising his pliés in full ballet regalia – to you and me, white leotard, dinky little blue shorts, white socks and of course white ballet slippers; pristine for one class only!

Far from being a fleeting fancy, tap, modern, national and jazz dance followed on and are now firmly established on the menu; fed with Stevyn’s seemingly bottomless pit of enthusiasm. Dancing has become a way of life as has the endless expense of dance shoes, leotards and costumes as they expire with regular monotony.

The only real trough so far was when Stevy’s peers discovered his love of dance. But even the most terrible taunts have so far failed to stifle his spirit. One evening we were talking about the teasing when Stevy said simply: “I just don’t understand why they’re so nasty to me about my ballet – who do they think will lift the ladies if there aren’t any men dancers?” I could have howled.

So here I am now, grappling around in the eerie half-light for my underwear as the raindrops pitter-patter erratically on the dormer window in time with my butterflies. Soon I will wake up my son and take him for his audition with the Royal Ballet for a place with the junior associates.

The journey to Barons Court is uneventful but I notice a sparkle in Stevy’s eyes, a spring in his step and his excited babble accompanies us all the way to the upper school where we are herded to a studio, which is to be home for the next few hours. An assortment of budding Rudolf Nureyevs change briskly and are whisked off by Madame, reference number pinned firmly to their fronts.

An hour later we are invited to their world, reached via a labyrinth of corridors smelling faintly of resin; piano sounds hanging in the air like a thin mist. While some of the boys are discreetly ushered away, Stevy’s group is asked to see the physiotherapist and do some more dancing. A motley pack of parents march back through the maze for another tense wait until eventually our treasures reappear – the audition is over! Madame informs us that we will receive a letter in a few weeks with the results.

Life returns to normal, briefly. The week speeds towards Saturday and another early start, this time five thirty am. With a strange sense of déjà vu I rouse the Kemp family for our trip to Leamington Spa and Stevy’s first festival dance. My nervous system is by now jingling about like a seriously deranged set of wind chimes. With Stevy safely in costume and make up, Dad disappears to organise delivery of music tape. Chloë and I commiserate with one another at the state of our nerves but nonetheless thoroughly enjoy the routines of thirteen novice dancers before number fourteen comes on and does his bit. A tap routine created by his teacher Sue, carefully and regularly rehearsed in the street to get the idea of the stage size, much to the amusement of the neighbours! I shall never know quite how I managed to hold back the tears of joy when Stevy was awarded second place.

Several weeks later the eagerly awaited letter from the Royal Ballet arrives and with kind and gentle words explains that they are unable to offer Stevy a place with the junior associates. A tidal wave of disappointment crashes over me, immediately followed with another of dread and panic – how do I break the news? I subdue a mass of contradicting emotions and with a stomach full of knots am surprised at how calmly I tell Stevy the bad news. Time passes, the tears dry and fade; my little star shines and dances on. I am delighted yet mystified at Stevy’s resilience and drive, that even after this first horrible knock in the world of showbiz he has bounced back so smoothly.

Dance summer school is embraced with enthusiasm and on the last day proud parents are treated to Bugsy Malone sketches by our mini molls and gangsters. My gorgeous Chloë participates too and dances beautifully alongside her brother. A few weeks later Stevy auditions at our local drama group and gets the part of TC the cat, in Dick Whittington – stardom at last! Just around the corner, the autumn festival at Royston looms and Stevy is again awarded second place qualifying for the regional finals of the All England Dance Competition.

It’s 1999, the King Rat is dead, TC is redundant and Panto put to bed for another year! The Milton Keynes Festival is next on the agenda, where Stevy will perform his tap routine as well as an Austrian national folk dance, followed by the school show and next batch of dance and singing exams. As I look back I wistfully remember a lanky five year old at his first dance class and feel a surge of motherly love and pride at how well he’s done.

Good luck little Stevy – I hope all your dreams come true, wherever life's journey takes you …

(January 1999)

Here is Stevyn posing with his friend Becky (left) and sister Chloë just before performing his Austrian national dance at a dance festival.

Taking centre stage as the King in his dance school's production of The Emperor's New Clothes.

I'm so blessed to have such happy memories.  :)

Transcription Services for University Research

It is the 3rd day of the New Year and all is well.  Today is a beautiful sunny day with wall to wall blue sky but crisp and cold.  Although it is a Sunday, the year has started on a busy note and today finds me transcribing university research material for a PhD student.  The quality of the dialogue on the recordings is not so good and I have some foreign dialects to grapple with, but after years of experience I seem to have found the knack of making sense of the haze of words.  Concentration cap on then and down to work!